


You'll Be On My Mind, My Destiny

by talksmaths



Series: miscellaneous song fics [1]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: F/M, Ryden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 02:04:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9857018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talksmaths/pseuds/talksmaths
Summary: "there was a time when I stood in line for love, for love, for love"





	

T his is the road where men come to die. 

It casts shadows of doubt across bent noses and in sunken, sallow cheeks. Blood is forced through veins, shoved along by each hesitant beat.

Love leaves them looking lost.

And the others--

Well, they must be doing all right.

You, an other, coming home in spring. News like a weed pushing past sidewalk.

 

 

She is friendly enough. Always is.

And kind, too. She has the kind of face that embodies laughter and happiness when she really feels it. 

So did you. I'd argue you had a better smile. You smiled and I could rarely stop myself from mimicking you. Until I pressed our smiles together, desperate for that light of a heart. For that sense of peace.

I look away from her. I feel heat sickness threatening to claw up my throat.

She says you're doing well, but I already knew. I can see what she's like.

You can't be happier, I don't think.

I try not to grip the fork too hard while thinking about how warm she kept you when I was so far. Too far. And how she fits better into his side than I ever did.

I can't tell if she notices my discomfort and chooses not to address it, or is unaware. It does nothing to soothe me either way.

Under the dark lights of the restaurant, I know she is the luminescence he always needed. Between the hushed conversations of dozens or hundreds or thousands of strangers around us, I know her voice sounds more sweet than mine ever could have. I know that there is something in her bones that you share.

I just don't know why I couldn't have pretended I had it.

She discreetly checks her phone and grins. I hope you treat her well. I hope she never hurts you. I hope you can talk to her about tonight and speak my name like it's foreign.

May it never give you pain.

 

 

 

 

The cab driver mentions something about the rain. How it'll help the flowers, through a kind, weathered voice. I don't make out the words until after I'm home and the incessant tapping of the drops has stopped echoing.

 

I think about very few real things now, but as the sun rises, and I watch the rays bleed through the clear and brown glass on my nightstand and floor, I think about the crushing failure of letting you go and how the pressure of my heart yearning to break through my concrete ribs in search of light feels like dying and how I know I will never be able to mimic the stars in her bones--in  _your_ bones--and will have to settle for cosmic dirt and emptiness instead.

The sun settles on my skin. I can see a wind outside through trees, between people. It can't touch me.

 

 

 

["Gale Song" - The Lumineers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DcZykZVl28E)


End file.
